


A Good Time for It

by tuesday



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Background Character Death, Banter, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Magical Pregnancy, Past Bianca Davri/Varric Tethras, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Pregnant Hawke, Purple Hawke, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 22:15:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20015632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesday/pseuds/tuesday
Summary: Varric had seen a lot of weird shit over the years, especially where Hawke was involved, but this wasweird.





	A Good Time for It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asymptotical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asymptotical/gifts).



> So I'm going to start off with noting that I thought baby bump focus was the safety choice and wrote part of this before I saw that it was not something you were super into on EAD. I toned it down a lot and cut part of it, but there is still a fair amount of baby bump appearance (in an "omg pregnancy" way) near the beginning of the story. Just, uh, in case you read the beginning and worry this is going to turn into 3k of belly kink: don't worry. This fic is mostly banter and feelings.
> 
> I'm super pleased I got the opportunity to write for you, especially this ship. I hope you enjoy the fic!

Varric had seen a lot of weird shit over the years, especially where Hawke was involved, but this was _weird_. Seeing was believing, but Hawke let Varric touch, too.

"I know you've seen a pregnant person before," Hawke said.

"Never a pregnant guy." Varric corrected after a moment, "At least, not one I knew was born with the wrong equipment for it. How's it going to come out?"

"The same way it got in. Magic." Hawke said this lightly, easily, but there was something haunted in his eyes. Varric decided he wasn't going to press Hawke on this. "Honestly, I don't see why more mages don't do it this way."

"I bet the Chantry would be real thrilled about that." Varric grinned as he felt a flutter against one palm. "Did you feel that?"

"Considering it came from inside me, yes. Yes, I felt that," Hawke said. He was grinning, too. "There. You got to feel it kick. Are you done feeling me up now?"

"If I were feeling you up, you'd know," Varric said absently, absorbed almost entirely with the feeling of new life making itself known against his hand. This was a baby. Hawke's baby. Inside of Hawke. "This is amazing."

"Little less amazing on this end." Hawke blew out a breath. "I mean, your hands on me, that's nice, but I'd appreciate it more in a different context."

"What?" Varric asked, drawn back into the conversation, not entirely sure how they'd gotten here and whether this was more idle banter disguised as flirting.

"What?" Hawke echoed with an affectation of cluelessness that had Varric wondering if maybe this was actually flirting disguised as idle banter.

"You know," Varric said slowly, "you never did say who the father was."

"Me. I'm the father."

"Well, yeah, but I mean the other father. Or mother. Whoever. The other parent." Varric hoped Hawke didn't say Broody. He had some awful ideas about how the kid got in there if that were the case. It would be a whole lot harder to not think about the awful possibilities. At least if it were Daisy, the answer would probably just be "blood magic."

"Still just me, I'm afraid." Hawke scrunched up his nose. "Oh. Oh, no. You're thinking about it, aren't you? Look." Hawke looked to the side, very interested in the correspondence on Varric's desk. "It was an understandable mistake, okay?"

"You didn't," Varric said, suddenly horrified, though he didn't move his hands. "Tell me you didn't have sex with a demon while you were out investigating rifts and Fade magic. They're impossible to mistake for human. They _have horns_."

"So do Qunari!" Hawke said with all the defensiveness of someone who had definitely had sex with a Desire demon at some point. "And no. That's not how I got knocked up."

"But that did happen," Varric said, sure of it now.

"We're talking about my current mistakes, not my past ones," Hawke said firmly. "And my current mistakes involve a half-burned journal on healing spells and an incomplete understanding of something written partially in Elvish."

"You don't speak Elvish." It had been a while since they'd seen each other, but Varric had very clear memories of the one time Hawke had tried to thank Daisy in it. She'd laughed until she'd cried. Though that may have also been because it was soon after her banishment from her clan.

"And thus the incomplete understanding." Hawke's hands had come up at some point to rest over the backs of Varric's. "This baby is 100% pure me. And magic. Magic helped a lot."

"You tried to heal a gut wound and you ended up pregnant," Varric translated.

"And hey, gut wound healed. Look at me, standing all healthy and whole in front of you, not bleeding all over your bedroom floor."

"So I'm going to ask again," Varric said, though he'd decided he wouldn't and knew Hawke didn't want him to. "How's it going to come out?"

Hawke slumped over. "I have no idea."

"I know a guy who speaks Elvish." Varric stroked his thumbs against the bump. "And he's seen even more weird shit than we have. Most of it in the Fade, granted, but maybe he's seen this."

"This isn't why I came," Hawke said.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we can't make time for it."

—

Reactions to a pregnant Hawke were mixed. The Seeker had somehow gotten the hilarious idea that Varric had kept Hawke's location hidden because they were secretly married and were starting a family, only for Varric to be waylaid by the whole arrest and then hole in the sky thing. Chuckles had looked a combination of excited and troubled over the circumstances of Hawke's pregnancy, but promised to look into it. The Inquisitor had found out about the pregnancy through the Seeker first and was campaigning for Varric to make her the godmother.

"Who'd make a better godmother than the Herald of Andraste?" the Inquisitor asked.

"You don't even believe in that," Varric said.

"Still not why I'm here," Hawke said.

"Why are you here?" the Inquisitor asked.

"Right." Hawke scrubbed a hand awkwardly through his hair. "So. What have you heard from the Wardens lately?"

—

More weird stuff happened. Hawke was only tangentially involved this time. When it was over, there remained the issue of Hawke being pregnant, though now he was also understandably upset about his dead Warden friend. Honestly, Varric was just glad Hawke had decided to stay at Skyhold, even if Hawke was currently regretting it.

"I could have helped," Hawke insisted from his spot sprawled across Varric's bed. He looked good there, lamplight casting a warm glow over him. Hawke was stripped down to an open robe and loosely drawn trousers. "I should have gone with you after all."

"And you could have ended up in the Fade with the rest of us. What would that have done to Junior there?" Varric pointed at the baby bump, bare to the air and practically begging for Varric to touch it again. Just as tempting was all the rest of Hawke on display.

"I'm not naming this kid after Carver." Hawke covered the bump with one hand. "Maybe I could have taken out the dragon, no Fade shenanigans necessary. I've fought dragons before."

"Yes, I was there. But those weren't corrupted zombie dragons," Varric said with what he thought was a great deal of patience.

"I don't know, that last one in the bone pit looked kind of zombie-like."

"It was an albino," Varric said, smile pulling at his mouth. "That's not the same thing at all."

Hawke heaved a sigh. "I hate not being able to help."

"You've helped plenty," Varric told him. "You deserve a break. Besides, growing another person is hard enough work on its own."

"It is. It's very hard work." Hawke craned his head to look at Varric. His eyes were half-lidded. His smile was suddenly sly, knowing. "It's the hardest. I deserve a reward for it."

"What sort of reward?" Varric asked, voice gone low.

It wasn't a good time for it, but it was never a good time for it. If Hawke asked—actually came out and _asked_ —Varric decided he was going to go for it, to say yes and see where years of friendship and sexual tension never more than jokingly acknowledged would take them. Hawke was pregnant. Odds were good he might finally be ready to settle down. If he didn't want to, well, someone would have to stay home and take care of the sprog. Varric had seen so much of Thedas in his time with the Inquisition—too much much, really. He'd be happy, when this was all over, to stick with one place and raise a little family, his own happily ever after. He wanted to go back to Kirkwall, but he was flexible on that point. And now that he'd acknowledged it, oh, how Varric wanted it.

He wanted to climb into that bed and cover Hawke's body with his own, to run his hands over all that skin on display, to find out firsthand what Hawke's mouth felt like. He wanted to push off that robe and kiss the broad shoulders revealed, the muscles no one expected of an apostate, but which Hawke had built up over years of using his mage's staff as an actual stave. Varric wanted to pull those loose pants off Hawke's hips and prove his way with words wasn't his mouth's only skill.

Varric wanted like a physical ache, like a knife to the chest, like electricity crawling over his skin. He wanted Hawke tonight. He wanted Hawke tomorrow morning. He wanted Hawke for the rest of their lives together. He even (he especially) wanted that child currently growing in Hawke, for what was currently Hawke's alone to belong to them both, to have the right to make that claim. The kid was Hawke's, and that was reason enough to love it. Varric loved Hawke enough that there was plenty left over to go around.

Hawke's smile vanished. He looked away. Slowly, he said, "I want a drink, but I'll settle for a story."

"Yeah." Varric's voice was steady, never failed him, but his mouth was dry. His throat was tight. His skin felt hot. Varric dropped into the desk chair and tried not to let any of it show. It was a good thing he had so much practice. "I can tell you a story."

Varric spun a web of bullshit for Hawke. Hawke's smile came back, but it wasn't the warm, languid thing of before. Varric didn't feel it like an invitation to a potentially bad idea he desperately wanted to take Hawke up on. Sure, some of Hawke's bad ideas had exploded in their faces over the years, sometimes literally. But some of them had led to some of the happiest moments of Varric's life.

—

After that, there was a whole thing with Bianca. If Varric hadn't thought they were done before, he certainly did now.

"Did you want to talk about it?" Hawke asked when he found Varric holed up in his room again, sitting up in his bed, back to the wall it was shoved against, legs across the width of the mattress.

"Do I look like I want to talk about it?" Varric said.

"Kind of, yeah."

Varric knocked his head back against the wall. "Shit."

"That's a start," Hawke said.

"Not my best work," Varric said.

"Doesn't need to be." Hawke looked so damn understanding.

Varric closed his eyes. "Fine. It's a short story. Just a few words: I'm a fool and I'm done this time."

"Do you want to go get drunk enough for both of us?" Hawke asked solicitously. His body was warm against Varric's as he settled in beside him.

"Why stop there? Why not for all three of us?"

Hawke's fingers felt nice where they threaded through Varric's hair. He rubbed little circles in Varric's scalp. Quietly, he said, "Whatever you want."

Varric could've used that permission weeks ago. Now, he just wanted to bury his face in Hawke's shoulder until the burning pressure behind his eyes went away.

"Once upon a time, I thought she was going to be the love of my life."

"And now?" Hawke said, no judgment in his voice.

Varric laughed, a choked sound. "And now it's just the crossbow."

"No one else?" Hawke said. His hand never stopped moving.

Varric couldn't do this today. "You know the answer to that."

"Sometimes," Hawke sounded tired, "I'm not sure I do."

They sat there in silence. Eventually, Hawke withdrew his hand. Varric stood.

"I'm going to get that drink."

Varric left. Hawke didn't follow him.

—

(It was a reversal of how these things usually went for Varric.)

—

Varric had that drink and chased it with a couple friends.

"I don't get it," the Inquisitor said when she found him at the bar, trying to figure out if he really wanted to try drinking for both him and Hawke. Surely one would be enough. "I mean, yeah, we spent all that time with your ex, but it's obvious how much you love Hawke. I don't get why he'd feel threatened when you're happily married."

Oh, right. Hawke had thought it was funny, and Varric had thought it was hilarious when it wasn't a punch to the gut. No one had ever bothered to correct the Seeker or the Inquisitor (or anyone else for that matter) about the whole husbands thing. It might have been revealed early on if not for the fact Hawke had moved into Varric's room the same day he'd showed up pregnant and never bothered to move back out again. At this point, Varric was used to Hawke's snoring and slept better with it rasping in his ear.

Varric looked down at his empty glass. He decided he could go for one more.

"Varric?" The Inquisitor sounded uncertain.

"Not actually married." Varric tapped the wood beside the glass and said, "Hey, I'll have another."

"You're drunk," the Inquisitor said, voice gone determined now. "I'm cutting you off and helping you back upstairs."

"I've had three. Maybe four." There'd been years there where that was the start of Varric's night. Admittedly, those nights had usually ended with Varric losing a significant volume of the Hanged Man's watered down ale on the stairs between the bar and Hawke's new home up in Hightown, because he'd decided it was a good idea to walk Hawke home, but hey, as Varric had already established, not all of his ideas when it came to Hawke were winners. Like his current one. That one was terrible, absolutely terrible. "I should go back upstairs."

"I just said that," the Inquisitor said, holding out a hand to help lever Varric up.

Varric accepted the help all the way up to his room, though he was fine on the stairs. He didn't lose a single drop. Nostalgia was losing to not drinking his bodyweight in cheap liquor. The Inquisitor hovered by the door, but let herself be shooed away. When he was alone, Varric knocked.

"It's your room," Hawke said when he answered it. "You don't have to knock."

"Pretty sure you have at least half-ownership at this point."

Varric stared up at Hawke, struck all over again by how good Hawke looked. In general, always, but also now, specifically, mid-pregnancy and mad at Varric for something he had or hadn't done. Hawke's hair was a mess like he'd been running his hands through it. He was done up in his usual apostate chic, this version all leather and hodgepodge armor and bits of fur and half-cape, a disaster of fashion he never failed to pull off. Hawke was holding his staff. He'd pulled his pack out from under the bed.

"You're leaving," Varric said, suddenly all too sober and not yet drunk enough for this.

"You know me. Itchy feet." Hawke shrugged with one shoulder. "Solas got back to me about the spells I'd need for the birth weeks ago. No point in sticking around when I could be out there helping."

"Then why did you?" Varric asked. "Why stay this long?"

Hawke looked away. "Can we not and say we did?"

"Why don't you put down your pointy stick, come to bed, and we can talk about it in the morning?" was Varric's counteroffer.

Hawke leaned on his staff. "Fine. Let's do this now. I stayed because it seemed like maybe, finally—" Hawke stopped. He shook his head. "No, actually. No. I'm not doing this with you. You're drunk, I'm angry, and if it's never happened before, it was stupid to expect it to happen now."

"Hey, Hawke," Varris said softly, putting his hands up on Hawke's shoulders and grabbing him by the silly fur lining covering the pauldrons of his armor. "I've wanted you since before you decided to leave Kirkwall."

Hawke made an undignified noise. Varric pulled gently.

"Come on, I need you to work with me here for the part of this grand romantic gesture in which the hero finally kisses his long-time love interest."

"That's not funny," Hawke said.

"Oh, no, it's hilarious." Varric smiled, though he wasn't fully feeling it, nerves all over despite the liquid courage. "It's also true." Varric had known Hawke for years, but he still couldn't quite decipher the expression on his face. "Or you can turn me down and walk out that door. But I've been informed by any number of people that we make a cute couple, and you wouldn't want to disappoint your fan club, would you?"

"Why didn't you say anything?" Hawke said, which was encouraging.

"At what point? When I was still holding out hope Bianca would take me back, and you were flirting with half the people we knew? When you were mourning your mom or when I was mourning my brother? When the city was literally on fire or when you were fleeing into the night with the words, 'Don't wait up for me'? At what point did it seem like a convenient time to mention, 'Oh, hey, by the way, Hawke, while we're muddling along alternately not talking about the rampant sexual tension or joking about dating each other, I think I'm falling in love with you'?"

"If this is a joke right now," Hawke said, voice low, "I'm going to be so mad at you."

Then he was bending down and kissing Varric. Hawke's lips were dry. Varric had to tilt his head up. Hawke dropped his staff and buried both hands in Varric's hair. He kissed fiercely, desperately, and Varric thought, an ache in his chest, _How long?_ How long could they have had this? How long had Hawke felt the same?

Varric pushed lightly, and Hawke took the hint, walking backwards until he hit the bed. He sat, and the angle changed, Varric leaning down and Hawke straining up for kiss after kiss.

"Stay," Varric said, resting his forehead against Hawke's. "I'm needed here. If you go, I can't follow you."

"Okay." Hawke's eyes were bright. His lips were red. Varric wanted to push him down and take him apart. "You make a compelling argument. I'll at least stay for breakfast."

—

They went down to breakfast together. Hawke had traded out the armor for robes again.

The Inquisitor lit up when she saw them hand in hand. What she said was worse than any prying question. "This means I should definitely get to be godmother."

"Isabela would shank you," Hawke said sleepily.

"Not Daisy?" Varric asked.

"Our kid's not going to grow up thinking it's okay to be a blood mage." Hawke made it all the way to the bench seat before his own words filtered through, his mouth having obviously run ahead of him. He froze up on a several second delay. It was adorable.

Varric patted him on the shoulder. "Yeah, they're just going to want to be a pirate."

"Privateer. She prefers the term privateer these days." Hawke looked a little more awake, considering. Almost cautiously, he said, "You know, we're going to need more than the single room if we're going to raise a kid together."

"What do you say, Inquisitor?" Varric said. "Think we qualify for family quarters?"

"Absolutely." The Inquisitor looked as proud as if she'd given one of them away at their nonexistent wedding. "Talk to Josephine."

"Family, huh?" Hawke said.

Varric grabbed a plate and started loading it up. He agreed: "Family."


End file.
